Mea Culpa
by Emoryems
Summary: Sometimes the fairytale doesn’t have a happy ending. War, love, loss, and new beginnings. AU. Not HBP and DH compliant.
1. Prologue

Warm rays of light filtered through the cloud-strewn sky, shimmering in the light drizzle of late spring rain. Mountains eclipsed in forests of green rose around, the high leafy branches either bright with sun, or hazed in shadow, moulting the different shades together. It was a breathtaking sight, far beyond anything Harry had seen in a long time, and it panged painfully in his chest that there was any beauty in the world this day.

The grass he stood upon was covered in a fine mist of moisture, each miniscule drop clinging to the blades of greenery, winking up at him from below. Darkened sections of cloth had risen around the bottom circumference of his robes from the wet ground, causing them to cling uncomfortably to his trousers.

"If I should die and leave you here awhile, be not like others-"

A sob broke out into the clear air, shattering around the man's entire being, and he squeezed his eyes shut, pinching a single tear from between his lids. It shone softly upon his lashes before descending slowly down a pale and hollowed cheek, loosing its lustre as it spilt silently between his lightly closed lips.

"-Sore and undone, who keep long vigils by the silent dust, and weep. For my sake-"

Inhaling a shaky, rasping breath, the green-eyed man tasted salt.

"-Turn again to life and smile-"

'_But I can't smile. Not now._' Another tear followed the first.

"-Nerving thy heart and trembling hand to do something to comfort other hearts-"

A great heaving cry sounded out, and Harry pinched his lips tightly together to quench his own from answering. '_Why were you so damn brave?_'

"-Than thine. Complete those dear unfinished tasks of mine and I, perchance, may therein comfort you."

But nothing could comfort the erratically shaking back just out of his reach, and nothing anyone did, or could ever hope to do, would stop the ever growing pain within his chest. It ate at his lungs, pushing air from his lips in a cadence of sorrow.

"Oh, Merlin," he whispered softly, clenching his fists tightly, feeling as his nails sunk slowly into the flesh of his palms. His arms were shivering of their own violation, and his normally untameable hair hung solemnly about his eyes.

A mop of crazed hair was suddenly pushed tightly against his chest, and as Harry wrapped his trembling arms about the lithe body clinging to him, he let out a sob of his own. Holding his best friend as close as he could, Harry tried his hardest to be strong, to stand without quivering, but his legs jerked out from beneath him, and he tumbled, still clutching Hermione, to the ground.

It didn't matter that water was soaking into his pants, cooling his flesh, or that he was being watched from all sides by many pairs of eyes. All Harry could do was sit, entirely engulfed in tears and wretched hiccups, embracing Hermione and sharing her agony as his own.

An eternity passed before his eyes, and he heard none of the footfalls, nor felt any of the hands clenching his shoulder in condolence. He was wrapped within his mind, a lifetime of memories passing.

Laughter from times long past filled his ears, pushing out the lonely silence of the real world. It was a temporary land of what had already come to pass, a place forever out of reach. And Harry lost himself within it, glad to forget for just a moment everything else. But his mind could not house him forever. Not now.

When the field was empty, and the grass around the two intertwined friends had lost all of its moisture, a heart-wrenching howl rose from deep within Hermione. Harry could do nothing more than grasp tighter in response, feeling the despair swallow him completely, as the single word echoed achingly within his mind.

'_Ron…_'

-


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One 

Sleep was a deceptively thorn filled rose. It was enticingly beautiful, calling out with soft penetrating fingers to be answered, but Harry knew how very vicious it could be. Dreams and nightmares would linger just beyond the golden song of rest; a promise of terror lurking just past the lull of peace.

Green eyes peered out into the darkness, attempting to pierce the utter blackness of the room unsuccessfully. The lack of light played cruel tricks with his mind as false visions of monsters and movements swam insistently. This would be a sleepless night.

With a sigh he shifted his weight to the right, rolling more onto his side, facing the edge of the bed and allowed his hand to dangle freely, feeling the chilled, silky sheets. The cool air of the room felt smooth against his skin, the light breeze from beneath the door playing with the light spatter of hair upon his uncovered arm.

Heavy thoughts loitered in his mind, circling round and round in an endless trail of strategy and death, spitting forward images of an unerringly repulsive nature. The War was a horrid event. It had been upon the Wizarding World for just short of three years, by far not the longest war to be waged, but it was brutal. And to Harry, it had gone on for far too long.

Lives were lost daily in the raids and attacks made by opposing forces, and as the death toll rose so did the panic and despair looming within the Wizard population. It seemed to be a cancerous growth within the Magical community, metastasizing rapidly. The longer this was allowed to continue, the more difficult a recovery would be. If there was one.

The Order of the Phoenix strived to overcome the growing number of Death Eaters and supporters of Voldemort's cause, but they found themselves overcome. Too many of the people had been bribed, promised freedom in a world of slavery.

The bed creaked softly from a place behind him, and Harry inhaled sharply as a calloused hand brushed across his shoulder, trailing down his clavicle before settling around his chest. A warm body pressed tightly against his back, the naked skin of their bodies moulding easily together.

Reaching up to caress the hand with his own, the dark haired man inwardly winced as he encountered a puzzle of interwoven scars. They played gently with the pads of his fingers.

"Are you alright?" The voice was hoarse, whispering close to his ear. Harry shivered as warm breath graced the edge of his neck, ruffling the short hairs there.

Pushing back into the embrace he muttered, "Yea. Can't sleep."

The arm wrapping his chest tightened briefly than loosened, and Harry was momentarily disappointed at the loss before it was back, the nimble fingers brushing against his nipple, tweaking lightly, before running down his sternum to rest on his hip. Pleasant tingles prevailed where the hand had been.

A small smile spread on his face, and Harry turned into the hold, pushing his hands tenderly across the planes of flesh, rubbing small circles with his thumbs as he went, up and over strongly built shoulders and down a shapely back.

In the dark he could not see, but that did not matter as Harry instinctively reached forward, pressing his lips against the other man's. Moving languidly together, they moaned into the intimate touch, loving the feel of slightly chapped lips, warm breath and slick tongues. Massaging lightly within the hot cavern before him, Harry deepened the kiss, nibbling and nipping as he went.

Pulling back a little, Harry took the full bottom lip of his partner within his mouth, sucking softly, and then bit softly as he broke the contact in time to gasp. A hand was snaking down, settling on his navel before slowly sliding down, caressing his stomach, going lower.

A sudden flash of green light lit up the room, shocking the two men apart as they jumped, grabbed at each side of the bed respectively, and were out of bed, wands in hand.

"Moody," Harry said, staring at the bodiless head within the fireplace, which was staring back grimly.

Magical eye whirling rapidly, Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody grunted, his scarred face pulled into a fierce mask of deadly calm, fury writhing beneath the surface. "Get dressed, Potter. Voldemort has assembled his army, they will be upon Hogwarts within the hour." And than he was gone, succumbing the room in darkness once again.

Fear sunk a skeletal hand within Harry, wrapping around his insides slowly, drawing out a moment of pure panic, and Harry knew that this might be the end. But the end of what was the question. He also knew that this might very well be the beginning of an era without Voldemort, and the determination that grew at that thought battled with the trepidation.

Harry stole in a deep breath, pulling it past the tightening of his chest, and was at once in action.

"_Lumos,_" he commanded, and the tip of his wand lit instantly, glowing brightly in the blackness. His clothes were at his feet, crumpled unkemptly, and as he bent to grab them he caught the glinting eyes that stared at him from the other side of the bed. Golden brown and filled with a lifetime of sorrow, they pulled him in.

It took five steps to cross the room, and as he did, a choking emotion filled him. It was clasping his heart and paralysing his lungs, making it hard to breathe, hard to see, and impossible to fight. When arms surrounded his shoulders he wrapped his own around the slim waist before him, tugging them chest to chest.

Harry twisted his eyes shut and buried his face into a stubble-roughened chin, then against a smooth neck, where he rested and felt the body around him. "I love you," he whispered, the words muffled.

The other man rested his chin on the wild dark hair, nodding. "I know." A pause. "I love you too."

Again they pulled apart, eyes meeting in the light of Harry's wand. A silent message passed, and Harry turned away, back to his abandoned clothes.

Pulling on his trousers, shirt and robes with ease, and then attaching his wand holster to his wrist, Harry looked over at his companion, who had just shrugged on a ragged cloak. "Are you ready?"

Nodding while walking toward the young man, Remus grabbed the pot of Floo powder, grasping some in his hand while offering the small container forward. Harry took it without a question, placing it back upon the mantel when he had a pinch of his own.

One last look at the room, a dark walled dwelling with a flat ceiling and shadowed corners, Harry pointed his wand at the fire, intoning, "_Incendio._" The fire burst into life, bright and flickering with colour. It reminded him of warmth and of death, of good times and of bad. Yet another contradicting object of remembrance in a world full of them.

Stepping forward he threw the Floo powder into the fire, causing it to blaze bright green. '_Not unlike the killing curse,_' thought Harry as he stood in the flames and clearly said, "Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts."

Then he was spinning so hard and so fast the Floo Network blurred around him as he passed fireplace's, the green flames still swirling with him. '_I never did like travelling by Floo,_' he thought, shutting his eyes to the dizzying array of images.

When he finally came to his destination he was tossed to the ground unceremoniously, landing with a painful 'thud' on his stomach. His rapid arrival caused heads to turn sharply, staring for only a moment before turning away. All but one.

"Bravo," Severus Snape hissed sarcastically, "your unending display of grace astounds us, Mister Potter."

Rolling his eyes and pushing himself up on his elbows, then to his knees and finally to his feet, Harry glared out of narrowed green eyes at the sallow man standing with his arms crossed, who was pushing just as much hate and anger into a single look as he was.

"Glad you think so, Snape," he snarked, scowling distastefully at the older man who sneered back.

Bright green flared up again within the fire, and a speedily spinning Remus appeared, who, after a moment in which he stopped turning, easily made his way to stand beside Harry. Placing a hand on the man's shoulder he leaned in. "Bad landing?"

Harry snorted, shaking his head. "How did you know?"

"Why else would Snape look so pleased at a time like this?"

'_At a time like this, indeed,_' he thought, looking around.

The Headmaster's office looked as it usually did, the windows drape free and surrounded by the portraits of Headmasters from years past. Spindle-legged tables housed trinkets that shone in the candlelight, reminding Harry of a night similar to this one, a night that he'd traipsed into the Department of Mysteries with the members of the DA. A night of which one of their numbers did not return.

The desk at the head of the room, with its highly polished surface and clawed feet, was covered with a map, a small crowed of people standing around. They had scarcely glanced up at him, their eyes hard and determined, before turning back to the paper, of which Headmaster Dumbledore was pointing to several locations with his wand.

He could make out the faces of Albus and Minerva, deep in conversation, sometimes interjected by Moody or Shacklebolt.

Remus walked up toward the group, brushing his shoulder against Harry's as he did, and Harry followed, barely noticing his feet moving as he found himself staring down at a layout of Hogwarts and the surrounding grounds in precise detail.

'_It looks like the Marauder's Map. Except…_'

The ink dots and labels that would have constituted as each person were left without a name, instead coloured according to the different forces. Bright red dots speckled the interior of the castle, some patrolling the area between the greenhouses and the Forbidden Forest. On the edge of the parchment, to the North in Hogsmeade, a convergence of inky black dots was approaching.

Albus looked up, catching his eye, and Harry felt a pang as he realized there was a distinct lack of the usual shimmer. The normal twinkling of the old wizard's eyes had died away sometime this night, maybe even before that, but it was so pronounced at that moment that Harry wanted to scream. It wasn't right. Dumbledore without his glimmer was like a Hogwarts without Dumbledore.

Moody shifted, pulling Harry's attention to the retired Auror. "We received information approximately an hour ago," he said, nodding at Snape, "that Voldemort plans to bring the battle to Hogwarts."

"To finish the war," Harry guessed, mouth pulling back in a grimace.

"Yes," Albus answered. "He has been building his forces for months for this." The fire crackled in the background. "This will be the final fight; this battle will decide the course of our entire existence."

The words left a thickness to the air, a kind of rotten taste that was not tangible, but strong. For a moment the small gathering stood in silence, lost.

"Will the Ministry send their Aurors, Albus?" Minerva was poised and straight backed, her black hair pulled tightly away from her face.

"No," Moody growled. "Cowards."

Dumbledore sighed. "We have sent out an alert. All who will fight for our world have come."

"But there are so few!" exclaimed Remus, examining the map.

Harry silently agreed with the man, his eyes skimming over scarcely two hundred beacons of red. "What are the tactics?" he asked, at the same time thinking, '_Ron should be here._' Ron always was the master of strategy.

"Members of the Order are leading groups of defensive and offensive individuals. Those who are competent in warding are placing the strongest spells possible around the castle, and the rest are gathering their strength for the coming battle," grunted Alastor. "We have blocked off all entrances to the school as best as we can except the front door. We have the upper ground from the staircase to the second floor, and the single entrance will bottleneck their numbers somewhat."

"Until the giants arrive," Shacklebolt said.

Moody made a noise of agreement. "Don't know how long the walls will hold once they have a run at them."

"Albus." McGonagall was pointing at the map, her hand trembling almost indiscriminately.

The army of black was moving, pouring through the front gates from Hogsmeade, encroaching toward the school.

"The wards have not fallen, have they?" asked Minerva, and Albus shook his head.

"No. Not yet. We must move and join the others." The elderly wizard pinned each person with a look. "Good luck, my friends, and let us hope that this will be the end of this awful era."

They moved toward the door, stepping onto the rotating set of stairs individually, Dumbledore and Harry in the back.

"Harry, wait a moment, would you?" Harry turned to his old mentor, casting a desperate glance at Remus at he moved out of the door, and then out of sight.

They were alone in the office, the fire flickering ominously in the otherwise still room. "Yes, Albus?"

"How are you, Harry? The truth, I might add."

Harry smiled, a hollow feeling resting in his throat. "Ready to end this."

Albus nodded at him. "Me too, my boy, me too." An age weathered hand reached up to stroke a long white beard. "You know what you must do."

Long accumulated feelings of anger rose within Harry, and he clenched his teeth hard together. "Yes," he ground out. "I've known for a long time what must be done." And he hated it with everything that he was.

"I'm," the old man started, but than paused, an odd expression crossing his features. "I wish it could have been different for you."

Harry knew then that his former Headmaster had been about to apologise. '_But it's not your place to do that, is it, Albus?_' The fates had laid their path before Harry, filling out his life for him. '_You were only the vassal._' He nodded jerkily. "I wish it too."

Everything that he could say, everything that he had wanted to yell at the Professor over the years rampaged through his mind, tickling the edge of his tongue, and then disappeared. Harry closed the space between himself and Dumbledore quickly; pulling the man into a hug that was long overdue.

"Thank you," Harry mumbled into the surprisingly soft beard of the older wizard, and than pulled away and walked to the staircase, knowing he was followed shortly thereafter.

The walk to the main entrance of the castle seemed longer by an eternity, and yet not long enough. When he finally arrived, he saw the remaining advocates of light gathered, wands at ready. They would fight for a world that they loved, a world that they wanted to raise families in. And Harry knew he was among the bravest souls on Earth, that he would soon be fighting alongside some of the most valiant people that would ever exist.

He was proud to be there.

"Harry!" Hermione was running toward him, her frizzy hair flying behind her, and robes sweeping the floor. "Harry!" she cried again as she crashed into him, arms flung wide to accept him in a bone crushing embrace.

"Hey, Hermione," he said as he hugged back. "Are you ready?"

She took a step back, a trembling smile written on her face. "Y-no," she stuttered, the smile falling into a more serious line. "But there is no turning around now."

"No," he agreed. "There isn't." They stood together at the back of the ranks, observing as a deathly silence stole into the air of the high-chambered room. He could see various members of the Order standing interspersed within the other witches and wizards.

Molly Weasley's shocking red hair, more streaked with grey than he had ever seen before, caught his eye. She stood with the remaining members of her family grouped close, all in some sort of contact with the other. Ginny, Fred and Bill were the only surviving Weasley children. Another shock of pain hit Harry in the chest as he perused their faces.

Grief. Grief that was so powerful that it had sapped the years from each member of the Weasley family, leaving behind it a thin kind of frailty, surrounded by a bitter hard edge. Ginny, who had sprung into a beautiful girl of eighteen, looked far older, just as Fred and Bill did. They would never be the same without their father and brothers.

Harry could still remember every sob and wail of horror that spilled from Molly's chest as she bent over the cold, lifeless body of her husband six months ago. The same desperate cries she had screamed over the bodies of her sons.

George had been the first, falling to the killing curse during an attack in Diagon Alley, and then Charlie. Charlie had been captured in a raid, taken to the Dark Lord's headquarters and tortured. His body had been sent to the Ministry as an example. Percy had no chance to fight against the overwhelming attack that threw the Ministry into chaos, killing the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

The thought of Ron was painful. The deaths of George, Charlie and Percy had happened so quickly over a stretch of six months that they had prayed there would be a pause. Harry had preyed that Molly would never have to bury another child. But then Ron had done what he always wanted to do. He became a hero. He died for that title, saving the lives of tens in the process.

'_Why did you have to be so brave?_' It was the same thought that plagued Harry's mind endlessly, churning around until he felt numb.

A yell rose into the air.

Hermione, who was standing to his left and Dumbledore to his right, clenched their wands tightly in their hands. Harry jerked his wrist and his shifted into his own hand, the familiar feel of the wood welcoming.

A burning twinge spiked in his scar, and Harry set his mouth in a grim line, knowing what awaited him, knowing what was coming up, what would walk through the large oak doors to his home any minute.

The Battle for the Wizarding World had begun.

-


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Harry ran through the fighting wizards and witches, ducking low to avoid curses and hexes, leaping over the fallen bodies in his path. Sweat was trailing down his face, dripping from his chin and nose, flecking his ripped and torn robes.

Hearing a yell to his left, Harry dove, barely missing a jet of brilliant green light that continued past him into a wall. Debris flew from the wall, falling all around his prone body, and he could feel the crumbled stone beneath his palms, cutting and digging into him viciously.

Not hesitating for another moment, he rolled swiftly toward the origin of the curse, yelling "_Stupefy!" _A red bolt flew from his wand, crashing into the Death Eater, who was thrown several feet back into the air before falling to the ground unconscious.

Pushing himself back to his feet, Harry sprinted once again toward his target; a desperately fighting Remus Lupin, who was surrounded by four Death Eaters.

As he got closer to the skirmish he could make out the face of his ex-professor. Dirt was smudged across the man's left cheek, overlapping what looked like a giant bruise that spread the entire left side of his face. Blood ran from a wound at the edge of Remus's hairline, slicking a patch of light brown hair to his forehead.

One of the Death Eaters' masks had been blasted off by what looked like a cutting hex, and the man, who Harry now recognized as Lucius Malfoy, was bleeding profusely down the front of his cloak. The others were not completely unharmed by their duel with the werewolf, but were still fighting strong against the weakening man.

Feet pounding on the flagstones of the hall, Harry raised his wand shouting, "_Expelliarmus!_" The cloaked Death Eater who had been in the middle of hissing the killing curse found his wand ripped from his hand.

Remus, seeing Harry approaching, ducked a cutting hex and threw his own, hitting the person immediately to Lucius' right. The unnamed dark wizard fell.

A stream of red blasted past Harry's shoulder as he reached Remus's side, scorching his robe as it went.

Leaping over a fallen body, Harry joined Remus in the middle of the two armed wizards, wand pointing into the face of Lucius. Sneering, Harry raised a shield and deflected the blasting hex sent his way. "Can't you do better than that you sadistic twit?"

With a growl the blonde man spat, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

The green light flew at the Boy Who Lived with incredible speed, leaving him little time to grab the back of Remus' robes as he threw himself the ground and rolled.

"_Incendio,_" he whispered, watching in fascination as the robes the elder Malfoy was wearing burst into flames. High shrieks escaped the pained wizard.

Looking quickly around, Harry saw Remus standing above him, clutching his arm tightly to his side. The other wizard, who Remus had been duelling, lay on his back, sprawled out in the throws of death. He had taken the killing curse meant for Harry.

Having used _aguamenti _to disperse the flames, Malfoy was standing with smoke rising around him, panting in pain. Burns ran down his arms where the cloth of his cloak had been burnt away, the pink flesh covered in blisters. He stumbled, advancing menacingly as possible in his state.

Remus, who was standing, aimed his wand. "_Expelliarmus!" _he yelled, and Harry noted with worry, blood flew from his mouth with the curse.

Malfoy blocked the spell, sending it skittering off to crash into a wall that promptly burst, leaving a deep crater. With a threatening glare set on the brown haired man, he opened his mouth, straight white teeth covered in a film of blood. "_Ava-_"

Harry, hearing the beginnings of the killing curse, leapt forward, throwing his body into Malfoy's. They crashed to the ground, a kicking ball of torn and bloodied robes with Malfoy's wand rolling away. Harry, gaining the upper hand, smashed his fist into Lucius' face repeatedly, feeling the bone cave underneath more and more with each explosive strike. '_Oh, disgusting,_' he muttered within his mind, staring at the man.

The blonde was unconscious. '_Or,_' Harry thought, surveying the damage, '_dead._' Thin trails of blood ran from the nose and mouth of the Death Eater, mixing together in a pool forming quickly by his head. Where there had once been high and aristocratic cheekbones, was now a deformed mashed mess.

A weak grip wrapped around Harry's arm, pulling him up and off of the fallen wizard to stand. Sending a look of thanks to Remus, Harry looked further down the hall to the entrance to the Great Hall. The fighting had progressed over the past hour, spreading throughout the castle and grounds, damaging Hogwarts beyond recognition.

Giants, three of them, had lumbered their way to the castle, scattering the ranks of the Death Eaters as they did, only twenty minutes into the fight. Harry could remember the cold wretched fear that had filled the Entrance Hall as the creatures had arrived, throwing massive hunks of rock and pounding on the stone walls.

It had taken himself, Dumbledore, and a seething Professor Snape ten minutes to take one of the massive brutes down.

The Giants, in their appearance, hindered them extensively. Too many people were busy trying to be rid of the large creatures, allowing Death Eaters to pour into the castle, breaking ranks, and forcing a melee of mixed sides to churn all around.

A great crash sounded overhead and Harry's head snapped up, watching as a member of the Order was thrown over the ledge from the second level of the castle, flailing minutely. A shadow of blood followed him in his decent, spraying Harry liberally as Seamus crumpled not three feet away, head hanging by a thread to his body. Dead.

Nausea ripped into Harry as he turned from the sight, knowing it was too late.

Remus, who was standing by his side, gave a great shudder before collapsing, falling back against the pockmarked wall, than sliding to the floor. Harry was immediately on his knees beside the man, wand hanging limply in his fist as he took in the sight.

The arm that Remus had been clenching to his side had dropped away in the fall, revealing a mangled mess of flesh and bone. It looked as though the werewolf had taken a blasting curse to his side, the damage internal and external beyond repair.

"No," he cried out softly, reaching his left hand out to touch the gasping Lupin's face. Precious life fluid was running from between his friend's lips. From between his lovers' lips. "Remus," he sobbed, "You can't do this! Please…"

A small shuddering quirk overtook rapidly paling lips, blood bubbling with each breath. "I love you."

Harry, who was besieged with shock, shook his head. "No. No, no, no…" '_Oh Merlin, I'm loosing him, too.' _A short flash of warm memories danced across Harry's mind, but then they were gone.

The light in the kind honey eyes he stared into was dimming, so fast that Harry barely knew what had happened. Remus' face was slackened, the small smile having dropped as the life fled from the wizard's body.

Harry sat back on his heels, his hand falling away from Remus' face, slick crimson blood coating the tips of his fingers. A sob escaped, rocking the dark haired man back. The body of his lover lay out before him, slumped defeated against the wall, blood slicked and cooling. Dead.

Tears slipping down his face, Harry took one last look into the face of the man he loved, than reached out, closing the familiar eyes.

Without another glance he stood, shoulders slumped in despair. His feet felt heavy upon the cold stone, and screams were echoing in his ears from every direction. Spells flew, bursting against the walls, or against the people who were duelling all around, sending spatters of rock and red through the air.

A burn ignited within his scar, a familiar feeling that Harry knew meant only one thing. Voldemort was near.

With an anger boiling from within like he had never felt before, Harry took off at a run, stumbling briefly over large pieces of rock and occasionally slipping in the heavy pools of blood. As he ran he felt something in the air that he had never taken conscious account of. Something that had been an integral part of Hogwarts for as long as he had known it.

Magic was sizzling in the atmosphere all about, running in and out of every crevice and dancing atop every surface. It radiated from each person he ran past, glowing around the spells. It was a life unto it's own, flourishing and writhing in the battle, dark and light, hot and cold.

Passing into the Great Hall, Harry was abruptly sent sprawling, arms rushing to brace his fall. A sharp 'crack' rang out from his left arm, and agony ripped through him.

The Trip Jinx that had been sent at him came from the right, called out of a sneering Macnair's mouth. Old and festered abhorrence grew in Harry's eyes as he glared up at the approaching executioner. Getting ready to lift his wand, Harry was beat out by a madly running Fred Weasley, who unarmed Macnair with _Expelliarmus. _

"All right there Harry?" was yelled out of a gasping Fred's mouth as he cast _stupefy_ on the unarmed Macnair, throwing the Death Eater into unconsciousness.

Wincing from the sharp pain radiating from his arm, Harry stood, using his good arm to support him on the way up. "Yea, thanks Fred!"

They ran in opposite directions, Fred out into the hall, and Harry deeper into the Great Hall.

The five tables that had once accommodated the four houses and the teachers during meals had been blasted apart, the wood littering the floor. It was an obstacle course of deadly and hindering spells, bodies felled by the _Avada Kedavra _curse, and chunks of stone and wood.

There were only about four duelling couples in the Hall, all of which were immersed deeply in their individual battles. All except for the Dark Lord himself, who stood stoically at the centre of the Hall in the place where the Head Table would normally stand.

Jumping over yet another body, Harry was now between where the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables should have been. It was scarcely twenty meters from Voldemort when he happened to catch a glimpse of blood soaked frizzy brown hair.

Hermione lay on her side with legs flopped inelegantly about. A circle of dark figures rested around her, their dark cloaks and Death Eater masks in alternating states of disarray. All dead.

'_Please,_' he thought desperately, rushing to kneel beside her. '_Please be all right. Please,_' he pleaded to himself as he turned her over gently, feeling before seeing the coolness of her skin. A set of eyes glared up at him, their depths of knowledge and joy, and everything that was _Hermione_ gone. Dead.

'_So many people,_' his mind screamed over the buzzing that had filled his ears.

He lowered his chin to his chest, ragged breaths bursting from within as he cradled his best friends body in his lap, stroking her hair softly. The position reminded him of a time when he had felt the same heart breaking sorrow, when he had felt the same tears fall from his eyes in endless torrents. Ron's funeral.

And here he was, two years later and once again mourning the loss of a friend. Except this time he wasn't being held tightly to provide comfort, this time he held on and was surrounded by a sense of loneliness so strong it choked him.

"_Crucio!_"

Pain engulfed the boy saviour, turned man, with a maddening force. There was acid rushing through his veins, eating at his flesh, a blade playing in his skin, slicing and tearing in a symphony of anguish. A force pressed at his eyes until they burst and- '_Oh Merlin, stop… Make it stop. Stop, stop, stop,_' his mind threw the thoughts crazily in a mantra of pained panic.

Then he was freed from the horror, twitching weakly on the ground, a puddle of vomit lying under his cheek. It smelt of bile, strong and acidic.

"Harry Potter," the voice hissed, "you look so beautiful writhing beneath my will."

Harry opened his eyes and met Hermione's cold empty ones before he let them rise to meet the red orbs of Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord. "Tom," he spat, "how nice to see you. Ugly as ever I see."

Thin pale lips pulled back in a sneer, the flat nose's slits flaring in hatred and anger. "_Crucio_!"

The pain hit again with tremendous force, and Harry tried not to scream, to hold in the shrill cry he knew was bubbling in his chest. So focused on not making a noise, and so overcome with the thousands of knives penetrating his skin, the fire twisting in his mind, he did not feel his teeth bite savagely through his lip, spilling forth a rush of red liquid.

When the agony stopped Harry was immediately caught in a bout of choked coughing. The blood flowing from his lip had filled his mouth, some of it trickling down his throat. Tears in his eyes and red in the face, Harry noted his hand was empty, and he scoured the floor with his eyes to find his missing wand.

When he found it, he discovered it had been thrown six feet to his left, resting against and slightly under the body of a fallen man.

It was then that he realized who one of the bodies scattered around was. Albus Dumbledore. The old man's eyes were resting peacefully, face eased in death as if in sleep and without a blemish upon his skin. Dead.

"Ah, do you like my handiwork, Harry?" Voldemort was standing not a foot away, his polished black boots unflawed by the grit of death that covered everything. "He was easy. The old coot barely even fought," he said ponderously, "do you think he was hoping for you to save him?"

Harry heard the words as if they were said in passing, nothing more than background noise to the actual conversation.

Dumbledore was a signal of strength, the pinnacle of light that the Order leaned upon for leadership. And there he lay, beard in a perfect rendition of liveliness and yet so still, his ever-eccentric robes swathed about him.

"Oh, and we can't forget about my dear dark traitor. He was so lovely; the feel of his breath as it slipped away beneath my fingers was exotic. Perfect." Harry was drawn to another body, this time dark-haired and thin. Severus Snape.

The trademark greasy hair splayed about the Potions Master's head, the thick strands stark against the grey of the floor. There was paleness to his visage that Harry had never seen on the already sallow man. Dark bruises encircled his long thin neck, the shape of spidery finger clearly evident. Dead.

Harry pushed his torso out of the puddle of blood and vomit that had accumulated under him, using his right hand while cradling his broken left arm to his ribs. Voldemort was leaning back, a smirk of victory twisting his vein-painted white face disgustingly.

Looking into Voldemort's eyes, the eyes windowing a black and withered soul, Harry felt a deafening calm fall over him. It was similar to the slowing of time that anyone who had faced death could account for, the creeping drawl that gripped space and time, warping it ever so slightly.

With only one thought running through his mind, Harry burst into action, jumping from his place on the floor and to his feet in one swift move, at the same time throwing out his right hand, bellowing, "_Accio Wand!_" at the top of his much depleted voice. His wand shot up into his hand as he stabilized himself on his feet not ten feet from the wide-eyed and dark faced Lord Voldemort.

"It's time to end this, Tom." There wasn't a single hiccup in the words as they rang out clearly in the Great Hall.

The two remaining duellers stopped mid incantation to watch in awe as each of their icons faced off, one standing strong with not a mark on his robes, much less his body, and the other stooped slightly, tremors racing upon him, broken arm cradled.

Harry could once again feel the magic crackling in the air, building in strength as he allowed the confidence and sense of absolute _need_ rush over him. This was why he was placed in Gryffindor; this was why he was marked as a child to do the bidding of a man. This very moment was what his whole life had been building up to, preparing him to fight this very battle, in the place that he called home, for the lives of all those he held dear.

It didn't matter that almost every person he loved was dead, not now, not when the moment that would save every person who was left who could _love_ was depending on an end to this war, to this madness.

With power flitting around his body, and within him like another beating heart not made of flesh, but of absolute _need_, Harry steadied his wand against the most despicable creature to have ever existed.

Drawing in a long pull of air, Harry locked his eyes with those of the Dark Lord. "Goodbye, Tom." And with a mighty roar of, "_Avada Kedavra!_" Harry put every piece of strength and warmth he could find within himself into the stream of emerald green light raging from his wand.

Voldemort reacted at the same moment he saw the Boy Who Lived act, sibilating his own malice-filled yell. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

The twin spells surged together in a mighty roar of wind, the green lights converging in the middle between the two wizards, green energy pouring from where the spells met.

Harry could feel the power crack about him in loud bursts, the killing curse from his wand becoming more and more powerful as he pushed with all of his capacity to make it bigger and stronger than that of Voldemort's.

Feeling the boost of power from Harry, Voldemort echoed the action, pushing harder into the curse, and as he did so he heard a great _crack_ that ricocheted about the grand room, and than an even louder _crash_ as the windows all around the Great Hall shattered simultaneously, the shards bursting outward and away from the duelling men.

Harry saw the windows disappear in a twinkle of shards, but concentrated on the spell he was pushing everything into. All of his quickly diminishing power, every emotion he could pull from the depth of his chest, and everything that he _was_. Screaming in the effort, Harry used one last explosion of pure will.

A flash of green light lit up the entire Hall, then dissipated as fast as it had been. In the deathly silent after, Harry's wand arm dropped, hanging limply by his side. He couldn't feel the energy anymore. There was a distinct _lack_ of anything and everything swirling around, and he shivered.

It felt as though where everything once was, and where it could have been, there was a gaping hole. Like the temperature had suddenly plummeted, and the air, the pieces of debris, the bodies, everything, was more than just gone. They were a negative whereas they had once been a positive.

With a last fleeting image captured in his mind, Harry tumbled forward unconscious; forward, and straight into a portal where the two killing curses had once met.

-

Harry smiled as he sat up in bed, stretching luxuriously in the warm welcoming feeling that radiated from all around. The smell of bacon, eggs and toast floated through the closed door, awakening a deep and ferocious hunger within the pits of his stomach.

_Thumping sounds of fast moving feet pounded upward in a cadence of energetic excitement. As the sound became closer, and therefore louder, Harry turned to the heavily worn door as it burst open, allowing a tall redhead to tumble into the room. _

_Ron was panting in exertion, face flush and eyes bright as he keyed into the bed with his gaze, grinning at the unkempt boy with insane hair. "Harry!" he exclaimed. "Happy Christmas! C'mon, breakfast is ready, and we're gonna open gifts when you get your arse downstairs!" _

_Shaking his head, Harry barely managed to shout a "Happy Christmas!" at the retreating back of his friend. _

_A loud snort sounded sleepily from beneath the covers at his side, and Harry looked down with a content smile at the slowly shifting lump of which was emerging from the delicious warmth of the comforter. _

"_Morning then, is it?" _

_Grinning largely, and feeling as though his cheeks would burst under the pressure, Harry replied, "Yup. Happy Christmas!" _

_Pulling down the edge of the blanket just enough to uncover a sleep mussed face and dishevelled light brown hair; Harry leaned down, brushing his lips across those of Remus in a light kiss. Just as he was about to pull away a hand reach from within the depths of the comforter to grasp the back of his head and pull him down for a much more enthusiastic and deep kiss. _

_Murmuring in delight, Harry pulled away, his eyes meeting honey gold ones joyfully. "Ready to face the clan?" _

_Remus groaned as he sat up, his bare chest catching a dazzling ray of early morning sunlight, painting him bronze. "Do we have to?" _

_Harry laughed, his chest rumbling. "Yes! What else would we do, oh lover of mine?" A cheeky smile was sent in the direction of the werewolf. _

"_Humm, I don't know. Lets see…" Remus was suddenly laid out atop of Harry, his body a pleasant weight pressing the younger man into the mattress. With a smooth move, Remus had caught Harry's lips with his own, moving against them, and then pressing his tongue into the warm decadence beyond. _

_A moment later had Harry panting against Remus' lips, his moist breath breezing across the other man's cheek. "We really don't have time to do anything, do we?" he asked, a sort of disappointment in his tone. _

"_No," Remus said, "but we do have all of tonight…" _

"_Ohhhh… That sounds excellent, now doesn't it?" _

"_Oh yes. Very much so." With a last peck against luscious lips, Remus rolled off of Harry, moving easily across the room to grasp a shirt. "What do you think, red or green?" _

"_Red, of course," said Harry, pulling himself from the bed, "Green is far too Slytherin for you." It was said with much matter-of-factness, and an easy smile. _

"_Well then, I suppose you'll just have to be the Slytherin poster boy for the day. Here." And the green, and indeed it was _Slytherin_ green, shirt was thrown into Harry's unsuspecting chest, where it was caught instantly and held at a distance. _

_Looking at the offending piece of material, Harry scrunched his nose in mock disgust. "You want me to actually wear this?" _

_Single eyebrow raised, Remus shrugged his slight shoulders. "You could always go around half naked. I know I wouldn't mind." And then he was turning away, shirt halfway over his head and being pulled down. _

_Blushing at the thought of wandering around without his shirt on in front of every person he ever considered family, Harry pulled the shirt over his head, stuffing his arms through roughly. "How do I look?" he implored, flinging his arms out wide. _

_Remus, from his bent over position of pulling up his trousers, let his eyes wander slowly over the thin torso of his lover, than up to his face, lingering for a moment, than turning back to his task. "All right."_

_Harry gaped at the man, a scowl playing at his lips. "'All right'? Is that all you have to say?" _

_Swaggering forward until he was face to face, or more like chin to nose, with the younger man, Remus bent his gaze down, staring straight into the glittering green eyes. "It matches your eyes perfectly, my dear." _

_Harry, with his breath caught surreptitiously in his chest, smiled small and shyly, fluttering his eyes. "Really?" _

_Growling low in his throat, Remus lunged, kissing with a ferocity rarely seen in the normally docile man. "But of course," he muttered as he backed away, smiling proudly at the dazed and lost look in Harry's eyes. _

"_Oh dear Merlin. You two deserve to be on one of those Muggle soap singers that Dad always talks about!" Hearing the mock scandalized expletive from the widely opened doorway, Harry and Remus, arms wrapped tightly around one another, gave George twin smiles. _

"_We know," Harry said, giggling silently as Remus echoed in answer in unison. _

_Rolling his eyes in exasperation, George went to leave the doorway, making his way to the stairs. "Hurry up! Or you're going to miss everything!" _

_Harry was happy. That was the only thing he could feel, as he stood in a Slytherin green shirt in Percy's old room at the Burrow, wrapped tightly into a solid chest and surrounded by warmth. It felt as though summer sunlight had been bottled within him, shining radiantly from every dark crevice. For the first time in his life, he was exactly where he wanted to be, and not even the daunting thought of Voldemort could ruin this moment…_

_-_

The fields surrounding Hogwarts were peaceful in the daylight of mid November, the rolling grasslands set out before the great castle to the north shining with recently fallen moisture.

The Whomping Willow swayed in the distance, its limbs slicing through the light wind without hesitation, following no outside set of motion, instead moving to it's own harmony. The leaves were changing with the season, falling into the yellow colours of autumn, painting a picture of serenity for the dangerous tree.

The Forbidden Forest, stretching beyond the horizon to the left, was silent. No creatures created any ruckus, leaving the leaf strewn forest floor unchanged except for the intermittent soft lift of leaves upon the wings of wind.

A bright light unexpectedly fractured the quiet and calm, shining blindingly white with a silence that was more than just quiet following swiftly, and then it was gone. And the grounds were back again as they had been, the blue scarcely clouded sky and radiant sun smiling down upon them.

The only difference was a small clump of black that was lying in the middle of the field, pressed firmly into the grass.

When Harry found himself pulling back into consciousness, he was not immediately awake. It was a slow process not unlike swimming from the bottom of a lake toward the surface, pushing and churning the water that was all around in an attempt to go forward. To break the surface and take a deep, refreshing breath of air into deprived lungs, sending beautiful oxygen to replenish weakened muscles.

The figurative surface that Harry swam toward was much further than he could have held his breath though, and the man was glad he was not in water, and was actually crumpled on a soft patch of grass.

As his senses slowly returned to him, first the feeling of the blades of grass pressing into his cheek, the moisture slick and cool against his fevered skin, and then the smell of the last day of heat on the brink of winter, he was left pondering where exactly he was. Then finally, he blinked open his eyes.

The sight that greeted him was that of a fairytale, something that his mind would have conjured in the darkest of the night to lure him toward a fit-free sleep. It was what he wished the most for, and yet knew would never be truth, at least not anytime in the near future.

It was Hogwarts in the distance, unmarred by the horrendous battles over the past years, the fields still covered in grass and not rough and uneven from too many spells and feet trampling over the land. The Whomping Willow stood proud not far to the left, all of its many limbs still attached and moving. The Forbidden Forest was what caused it all, all of the fantasy, to shatter; it was standing, all of the trees and shrubs unfettered by the fires.

That was not possible, though. It was nothing more than a creation of his imagination to damper the harsh reality of the true history of Hogwarts.

Groaning in pain, Harry shifted onto his right elbow, trying to ignore the horrid ache spreading from his left forearm. His hands, and everywhere else also, were trembling, the after affects of the Cruciatus playing a brutish rendition of Quidditch within his nerves.

He could feel the drying blood clotting in his hair and down the side of his face, it was also sprayed on his robes, of which were tattered beyond any further use. '_Seamus' blood,_' the thought slipped into his mind, and Harry snapped his eyes shut in quiet remembrance of all of those who fought.

Mind still clouded with the remnants of unconsciousness, Harry flexed his hand, suppressing a gasp of surprise when he did not feel what he was supposing was a fake reality crumble. Instead, he found himself with a handful of slowly withering, but still green, blades of grass.

Pushing himself further up, making it all of the way to his knees this time, Harry took a better look at his surroundings. It was undoubtedly Hogwarts. But there were differences that he hadn't accounted for at first look; the Whomping Willow looked decidedly younger, and the forest was not as far encroached upon a much healthier looking version of Hagrid's hut.

The very same hut that had burned to the ground not two years before in the same fire that took over a quarter of the Forbidden Forest closest to Hogwarts. '_I wonder if Hagrid made it out, if he survived the battle…_'

Taking a staggering step upward, Harry stood as still as he could when the world tilted and spun in a way that was becoming increasingly nauseating.

When the spinning stopped, and Harry felt as though he may be able to take a step, Harry started forward, his eyes perusing the landscape around him, but mostly resting upon his destination; an undamaged and beautifully standing Hogwarts.

-

A/N: So... What do you think? Continue? This is one of those plots that have been used before, but I'm sure this one will be different.

Tell me what you think!


	4. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: No ownage of this material is of the happening. Nope. Just a lonely author enjoying the journey.

I finally figured out how to allow anonymous reviews… It was a bit different six years ago when I had my first/original account. Hehe, my bad.

Oh, the sections that are all in italics are memories.

**Chapter Three**

Harry snarled as he thrust himself bodily onto the ground, glaring in the direction that the red blast of a spell had come from. From his position, though, he could not see the perpetrator, only the corner they hid behind.

_Around him the room was falling to pieces, parts of ceiling hung dangerously from above, ready to crash to the ground at any moment. Stools and tables were nothing more than a heap of shattered wood, their sharp splinters everywhere. _

_There was a rush of movement, and suddenly his opponent was running across the clearing for the door, robes billowing out behind her. Harry, seeing the opportunity, shouted a _Stupefy_, and was only slightly frustrated when the dark-haired woman ducked at the last moment, propelling the door open as she drove out onto the street. _

_Up from his position half under a destroyed booth, Harry pursued. Looking both ways, Harry caught a glimpse of black disappearing around the corner to his left and across the street. '_How the hell did she move so fast?'_ he thought as he pushed onward. _

_Reaching the building, Harry paused, pressing his back against the storefront of Honeydukes. Pulling in a breath, he spun around the corner and was shocked to see Bellatrix trapped against the wall, his best friend holding her at wand point. _

_Feeling some of the tension ebb away, Harry jogged up, standing beside the redhead. _

_Ron cast Harry a quick glance. "You good?" _

_Nodding, Harry glared at the witch before them. "Yea, you?" _

"_Better than her, at any rate." _

"_Are the children alright?" _

"_Seamus has them holed up around back of Zonko's. We're still waiting for back up. Where is everyone?" _

_Shaking his head, Harry shrugged. "Haven't a clue." He looked at the last of the black family. "Lets finish this so we can go home." Another raid, another attack, another standoff. They were blurring into one long horrible day. _

"_Incar-" Ron was abruptly cut off as an explosion rocked the ground, sending Harry back a few steps to regain balance. _

_Bellatrix took advantage of the momentary distraction, grabbing her wand from Ron's stunned grip and pointing it at him, a mad grin spreading her face. "Poor little Weasel," she cooed, a glint in her eye. "_Confringo!" 

_Harry dove into Ron, taking them both to the ground, but was not fast enough as the blasting curse ploughed into his back on the left side. As breath exploded out of Harry's chest a terrible pain shot through him, and as he landed roughly, he noted that his ribs were most defiantly broken. Badly. _

_Darkness pulled itself into his vision, swimming rapidly. _

"_Harry?" _

_Hearing Ron's slightly panicked voice brought Harry closer to consciousness. "Yea," he whispered, and he could feel the blood building in his lungs. _

"_How bad is it?" _

_Coughing wetly, causing sharp stabs of pain in the process, Harry looked around. Bellatrix was gone, obviously having ran when he had dove to grab Ron. "Could have been worse." That much was true. He could be dead, or even more horrible, Ron could be. "Go see if Seamus is alright. The explosion came from the East. Zonko's." _

_Ron nodded in understanding. "I'll be back for you. Stay alive long enough, will you?" The words were light, but the tone and expression behind them were not. _

"_I'll try," he said dryly, "after all, how would I be the Boy Who Lived if I were dead?" _

_Ron frowned. "Say anything like that again, and I'll kill you myself." And than he was gone, running out from between the shops and to the left. _

Grimacing and attempting to sit up, Harry wrapped his right hand around to feel under his robe. Gasping, Harry coughed roughly, his head spinning. The blasting curse had caught him somewhere between his fifth and seventh rib, crushing the bone and bruising the flesh. 'Merlin, if that hadn't been a glancing blow…'

Black was dancing across his vision, and Harry gasped in a few harsh breaths, battling to stay conscious.

A cough rose in his chest, bursting out from his mouth in a painful wave, bringing flecks of blood along. Staring at the red smeared grass, Harry felt the pull at his mind deepen, and with a last prayer reaching out for his friend, he fell to the side, eyes closed and mind blank.

-

As Harry came upon the castle an odd feeling clenched his bleary mind. Shock had overcome his body long ago, before he'd even awoken on the plush grass. It made his mind slow and his body weak, nausea rising and falling in his stomach.

The walk had been painful, but thankfully without surprise or interruption. But along the way Harry's bleary mind, unable to focus as it was, had begun to question his whereabouts. That he was at Hogwarts was easily recognizable, but something played at the edge of his thoughts, telling him that this should not be possible.

The front oak doors loomed overhead just as they had each time Harry had stood before them, and like every other time, they opened, yawning inward to allow him passage into Hogwarts.

The emptiness in the Entrance Hall pierced his mind, and he wandered dimly if something was wrong.

Before he could take a step forward a voice rang from somewhere to his right.

"Hello? Can I help you?"

Minerva McGonagall gazed at the figure, taking in the raven black hair and pale skin, the slumped stature and tattered robes. The blood. Concern and alarm blared in her mind as she approached the man.

Harry couldn't breathe. 'Minerva?'

Mouth dropped in shock and eyes wide, Harry managed a weak groan as the pressure and stress mounted to a peak, his body giving out from under him. Black slid over his eyes and the darkness of unknowing flowed all around.

Minerva, who had been perusing Harry, saw the moment he lost consciousness, and quickly drew her wand to stop his fall.

-

Eyes cracking open, Harry was met with the tall roof of the Hospital Wing. 'What…' his mind dropped its thought as Harry remembered where he was and why. 'Ron,' he gasped to himself, horror dawning.

With a shaking hand he levered off of the hospital bed, barely able to stand, and somehow made his way to the door of the Hospital Wing. 'What happened?' he thought in an almost frantic way. The last thing he remembered was Ron running to check on the children.

"Mister Potter!" came the stern voice of Poppy. "What are you doing out of bed? Hmm? Do you have a death wish, young man?" Frilly apron billowing around her, Poppy Pomfrey bustled over, guiding him back to the bed. It was then that the twinge in his side let itself be known.

Harry was glad when he sat down, slumping deeply to relive the pressure from his side.

"Walking around in your state! What did you think you were doing?"

Madame Pomfrey sighed in exasperation, prodding him with professional touches, sending healing magic through his body accordingly, and muttering to herself the whole while.

"Poppy?"

"Yes, Mister Potter?"

It took a moment for the words to come. "What happened?"

A look of sorrow glazed the mediwitch's eyes as she paused in her work. "Do you remember the battle?"

"Yes. A group of Death Eaters were in Hogsmeade. They were attacking and we, Ron and I, were trying to stop them. But… Did the children get out? Is Ron alright?" Dread trailed his words.

Poppy gave him yet another look, this one filled with a hint of pity. "The children are fine. They were unharmed except for a couple cuts and bruises, at the worst a broken wrist." She paused.

"And Ron?"

"I'm afraid Mister Weasley fell in the battle. He saved the children."

-

The familiar ceiling of the Hospital Wing was not so familiar this time. As Harry lay, half in sleep, and stared at the impressive heights, his eyebrows furrowed, questioning the slightly different cracks that crept along the length of the building. They looked almost the same, just… Not quite as pronounced.

Confusion muddled his brain, and clear thoughts seemed lost to him as he tried to remember why he was laying in a bed in the hospital wing. It was obvious he was injured; he could feel the twinges of a recently healed bone in his arm, and deep tremors racked his body, a sign of the Cruciatus. Had he been in a battle?

Letting his wandering eyes drift to the side, Harry was met with a sight he was quite familiar with. Albus Dumbledore sat at his side, looking at him with twinkling blue eyes and stroking his long white beard.

Shock.

Harry felt a wave of cold course through his veins, felt as his heart quickened. Goose bumps rose on his flesh and the blood rushed from his skin, leaving his normally slightly bronzed colour to fade into a deathly pallor.

Images broke a dam within his mind, crashing down upon him in a rush of pain, blood, sorrow and anger. So much anger. But even more sorrow.

Groaning, Harry clenched his jaw in anguish. Voldemort. He had been at the final battle, had been fighting to end the war, end the suffering. But it had been a disaster. A total and almost incomprehensible disaster that ripped the life from so many people.

He could see all their faces frozen in death, an eternal picture that was etched into his mind. Into his soul.

Stifling a desperate sob, Harry bit into his cheek, relishing in the feel of his skin as it split under his teeth, spilling forth a small gush of blood. It was heavy and coppery in his mouth, seeming to slosh about, some trickling down his throat.

He suddenly wanted to laugh, to break into giggles until he was red in a face and could not breathe. The slightest of sounds escaped his lips and he choked on the blood pooled in his mouth, sputtering incoherently.

Grasping his arms tightly around his chest, holding to his upper arms, Harry shook with a terrifying mixture of sobs and laughter, feeling as though it was bubbling in his chest, boiling over and spilling out from his lips. It was like a giant yawn about to break forth, tingling mercilessly up his throat and out of his mouth in torrents.

Harry could hear someone keening loudly. It was animalistic. It was coming from him.

He wondered if Voldemort was dead. If maybe, in his last defiance against the disgusting creature of a man, he had succeeded. Killed him.

Killed.

A pained cry tore into the mess of noise, and Harry pulled his legs to his chest, curling in on himself.

Harry felt a sharp pain in his arms, and he realised that he was grasping himself with a bruising force, digging his fingers into his flesh and damaging the tissue. He was breaking all those small vessels that ran beneath the surface, making them bleed. Making him bleed.

Hands grabbed his shoulders gently, warm fingers prying his whitened fingers from his arms. He struggled against the touch, writhing to move away, but whoever was touching him was persistent, brushing off all of his attempts.

"-… Albus…-"

"-… Grab…-"

His teeth once again dug into his cheek, further breaking the skin, tearing away a large chunk, which was quickly followed by warm blood. It poured into his mouth from his opened flesh, filling his mouth, clogging his throat. Cutting off his air.

Harry inhaled, choking, and jerked as the warm fluid filled his trachea, making it impossible to pull in any air.

"…Choking… turn… get me…-"

Voices broke into Harry's perception, but he was coughing and coughing, pain spiking from his throat as he felt the hands return.

"…Anapneo…"

The blood was gone, and Harry dragged in a ragged gasp as his lungs were filled with air. His darkened vision, swimming with a haze built upon lack of oxygen, cleared. Albus' dead face was inches from his own. Perfect in death, no injuries… No blood.

Harry creased his brows, and wondered in the miasma of pain and confusion how a dead man could move. Could blink. Talk. Albus was talking to him.

But Albus was dead.

Albus Dumbledore had been felled by Voldemort.

Harry panicked, struggling to move away from the spectre, backing away as hastily as possible. And then he was falling backwards, shock crossing his features, arms flailing. 'Am I dreaming?' Maybe he was falling back through the rabbit hole, back out of a horridly beautiful dream, back into a reality of destruction. Of war. Death.

Jarring heavily against a hard floor, Harry was shocked into motionlessness. There was a hard, unyielding surface beneath his hands, and there was no abrupt return to consciousness. No mad whirling or confusion as he woke from a dream. He wasn't dreaming.

He was awake. He was awake and caught in the gaze of a very stunned and concerned Albus Dumbledore. A very much alive Albus Dumbledore.

'What…' Harry thought, confused. "A-Albus?"

Blue eyes widened in shock, their wizened depths caught in the surprise of the familiarity, thoughts whirling.

Harry, having been so involved in his old- dead- Headmaster, did not notice as the front of his hospital robes were slowly dyed red as blood dribbled from between his parted lips, or as the infirmary door opened.

A gasp rang out. "What-?"

Albus and Poppy turned away from the young man, their heads whipping around to meet shocked hazel ones.

Harry's mouth hung open in astonishment, and he started to shake his head, eyes never leaving the new arrival in the hospital wing. 'Fuck…' he thought. 'I've gone mad. Absolutely insane.'

His father. James Potter. Prongs. Alive.

"Albus, w-what is-" The dark haired man cut himself short, eyeing Dumbledore with raised eyebrows.

Albus nodded at the man in greeting. "I'm not sure. Did you need something, James?"

Shaking his head, James stepped forward, than paused, as if unsure what to do. "I was just coming to get a Pepper Up Potion. But it can wait, really, and you look busy so I- I'll just-"

"You're dead," Harry whispered, his red-stained lips moving minutely.

James looked at the dishevelled younger man in surprise, confusion obvious. "No, I'm quite alive, actually."

Harry snorted, and was involuntarily pulled into a parody of a smile. "No. No, you're dead. Dead and gone, and-" He stopped. 'All dead. All gone…' Blood and anger, hate and death. He laughed, chest heaving in the effort, and then the laughs turned to cries, and then there were tears.

Madame Pomfrey looked at the Harry, her mouth twisted in horror. "Albus…"

"I know, Poppy."

Moving to the sobbing youth, Poppy grabbed his shoulder, glad not to be pushed away as she had been earlier. She pulled a vial from her robes, uncorked it, and attempted to push it into a clenching fist, wary of any violent movements. "Take this. It's a Calming Draught."

Harry, holding the glass tightly, made no move to drink, instead closing his eyes and leaned back into the wall he had landed near when falling from the bed. His shoulders still shook.

Poppy gave the dark haired youth a sad look and took the vial back, pressing it to the now silent lips. When it had been emptied and Harry had swallowed, she stood from her crouch, glancing at Albus than back again.

The effects of the draught were instantaneous, and Harry felt a calm settle over him, allowing his warring mind to still, his fierce thoughts draining into more of an ebbing flow.

The wall on his back felt nice and solid, supporting his weight, and Harry was suddenly glad he'd wound up slumped against it. His strength had been sapped from him, and with the volley of emotions dampened, he had a chance to actually think.

Coughing weakly, aware that he probably looked horrendous, Harry examined the three others in the room. It seemed impossible. But it felt so real. He wondered that if he shut his eyes the image would change. So he did.

It didn't.

The confusion must have been showing, because suddenly Dumbledore was squatting next to Harry, his long and elaborate robes spread out around him, his blue eyes looking into Harry's green ones. "Do you know where you are?"

Harry licked his lips to moisten them, and then cringed at the taste of iron. Poppy, noticing, flicked her wand at him, clearing away the mess, than flicked it again, sending a mild healing spell. Harry nodded appreciatively at the mediwitch.

Noticing that Albus was waiting for his answer, Harry cleared his throat. "Hogwarts," he croaked. "In the hospital wing."

Albus nodded, than turned back to James, who had been standing at the door to the hospital wing, frozen in place. "James, would you mind?" He gestured to Harry.

James walked forward, passing the rows of beds lining the room and to where Harry was slumped against the wall, far too exhausted to move. He hesitated before reaching out, lifting the younger man off the floor with gentle hands and depositing him on the bed.

Harry was shocked. Again. When the man who looked like his father had come forward, Harry was sure some sort of elaborate disguise would wink out of existence and some other person would stand in his place, but that didn't happen. Instead he remained solid, lifting Harry back to the bed, where he was propped against a mound of pillows.

Dumbledore smiled at James, hiding the apprehension and confusion he felt at the situation. "Thank you, my dear boy."

"W-what happened?" Harry stammered, feeling much too calm to be dealing with this. 'They're dead. They're all dead, but they can't be because they happen to be standing here. Talking to me.'

The elderly wizard looked back imploringly. "I do not know. We were hoping you could answer some questions."

Harry nodded, his eyes wary and tired.

"How did you come to be within the Hogwarts grounds?"

Harry drew in a deep breath. "I was in battle-"

"Battle?" Dumbledore asked, while his white brows rose up toward his hairline.

"Yes," Harry said slowly, giving the old man an odd look, thinking, 'How could he not know?' "You don't know, Sir?"

Albus looked on curiously. "No," he said. "There have been no battles that I know of." With a look of preponderance he added, "At least, not in the last many years.'

Harry frowned. "But, Albus, the battle was at Hogwarts! How could you…" he trailed off, eyes widening. "You- but- there wasn't a fight, was there?"

Dumbledore shook his head, eyes narrowed. "No, there hasn't been."

Harry chewed his bottom lip. "What year is it?"

Eyes alight with a sudden understanding Albus glanced around, then sent a locking charm at the infirmary door and locked eyes with Madame Pomfrey than James respectively. "Do not speak a word of what has happened here. To anyone." They both nodded, amazed.

'Oh Merlin… What if I'm in the past? If my dad is still alive than maybe- maybe I can change-'

"1994," Dumbledore interrupted Harry's thoughts. "November the twenty fourth, 1994."

Harry's chest contracted, and his hands started to shake. He wasn't in his the past, then. 'But… That means I would be in my third year. How is my dad here? What?'

"I-I don't think I'm supposed to be here." He looked up into Albus' blue eyes. "I mean… I wasn't here. I mean, oh Merlin."

"When are you from?" Albus asked, an unusual seriousness in his lax demeanour.

Harry gulped. "1999. But, this isn't right!" he said, the end of the sentence picking up a hint of panic. "There- this isn't my past."

Albus Dumbledore could honestly say he was surprised. Not that having a traveller from a different time wasn't surprising enough, but parallel universes…

"Are you sure?"

The wild black hair ducked in a nod. "Yes."

Sighing and leaning forward in his chair, Albus pressed his spread fingers together in thought. "Tell me what happened."

Harry, feeling more than inundated by the situation, fiddled absently with the cuff of his pyjama top. "As I said, I was in battle, fighting for Hogwarts," he saw James and Poppy exchange glances. "Voldemort had brought his Death Eaters and the dark creatures together in a final attempt to destroy what left of us, and we gathered in Hogwarts." Harry saw Dumbledore frown, and asked, "What's wrong?"

The old man's brows were pulled, and there was a crinkling to his eyes that questioned Harry's words. "That is a rather unusual name, Voldemort."

Harry's mind stuttered to a stop.

-

A/N: Well… That was fun! Review? What do you think?


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